


just one is never enough

by shortitude



Series: makeouts are mandatory [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And LOTS of making out, Consensual & Loving Porn, Coulson in drag, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Hints at D/s, Strap-On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9947141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: “Makeouts Are Mandatory”: the Cousy Kissing mini Drabble-a-thon......fills.





	1. i see you shiver with antici--

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i changed that rocky horror drabble into a collection and i should warn you now: things will get kinky.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--pation. **lipstick. and a side of coulson in drag :)**

“I like this shade on you,” she says, before they step out of the car. He’s not embarrassed, since it’s not the first time for him anyway; back in the days Rocky Horror first came out, he had a whole group of friends he’d go see it with and they loved dressing up, just like he likes dressing up. Of course, now he mostly dons suits and pretends to know what he’s doing.

Except for this mission. 

\-- 

The business of being evil is not limited to old, entitled one-percent baby boomers, Daisy says as they get a briefing for their target. Infiltrating in the middle of a costume party seems like the best way to pass by unnoticed; nobody’s going to look for Agent Phil Coulson underneath mesh and a red feather boa.

It works out. (He likes the heels a little more than he should say.) 

\-- 

“Told you, I like the shade on you,” she says, against his mouth, pressing him against the wall of his room with her entire body (oh god, _her body_ ). He groans, and grabs her hips, and responds, and licks into her mouth, _Daisy, fuck, Daisy_ , and swallows up her dark, low laughter. 

She pulls away, and licks her lips, and he can’t help but smirk. The lipstick he used wasn’t expensive, whatever they had around, and it’s not like Daisy likes wearing much of it anyway, to invest in something good. So it’s transferred, and she looks debauched, which - appropriate. 

“It looks good on you too,” he says, and lets his hands slide down to her ass. 

“Good, maybe we can share it.”


	2. i'd kneel but i'm dizzy in love with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **aftercare**. strap-ons included. :)

When he peeks one eye open, five seconds later, after properly catching his breath, it’s to see Daisy standing in the middle of the room, unceremoniously taking off the strap-on. She looks so at ease, and so much like she belongs there, that it doesn’t really matter how sensual she makes that gesture appear or not. Up until this second, after the intense session that just transpired, he didn’t think he was capable of feeling anything other than blissful exhaustion. 

Yet look at him go, his heart swelling because Daisy Johnson is taking off a harness that fit her so well he could practically imagine her slipping sneakily into a shop and trying them on to find the right one. No, that’s not it. His heart is swelling, because Daisy Johnson is climbing back in bed with him, a smug grin on her lips, and he’s so grateful she exists. 

“I’m so glad you’re real,” he sighs, not careful with his words anymore, not needing to be. She’s given him freedom to speak his mind tonight, and rewarded each sappy confession. At this point, he seriously doubts she has any doubts left in her mind that this _isn’t_ just sex between them. 

To be honest, however, it was after the second time they slept together that he lose all illusions of this arrangement being just about sex. Daisy kisses with her entire heart, and he’s not a blind idiot to not appreciate the unspoken words behind those kisses. 

She lets out a soft laugh, and pats his ass cheek lightly. “I can’t believe I fucked you silly, Phil.” 

“Oh, believe it,” he groans, still blissed out, feeling just a hint silly. “You were amazing. You’re always amazing.” 

She leans in and kisses his shoulder, and he feels it like a full-body caress. “Careful with the compliments, I’ll think you’re in love with me or something.”

That pulls him up and out of his exhausted state. He shifts slowly, coming to lie down on one side, and faces her. “Just think?” Her face is an open book. He can see it, in the way she catches her breath and her eyes widen, that Daisy’s still too good at lying to herself, convincing herself that she’s not worthy, that she’s just taking scraps people will willingly throw her. She needs to know. “Daisy, I _am_ in love with you.” 

He did let her fuck his ass; _how_ was that not a clue? 

She lets out a choked laugh, and cups his face in one hand, leaning in to kiss him soundly. Maybe he should tell her more often. “Love you,” he murmurs against her lips, and pulls her down with him, until he’s lying on his back and she’s cradled safely in his arms. “Love you,” he repeats against her forehead. Then he shifts, and flinches a bit. “Okay, I’m a little sore.” 

Her low laugh is a sensual thing he won’t ever get tired of. “I _could kiss it better._ ”


	3. consume in moderation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **drunk kisses**. features drunk daisy, and a lot of awkward babbling.

“Gosh, your eyes are _so blue_ , Phil. I can call you Phil, right? I know I can, I think you like it when I do.” 

It’s been two minutes since Daisy strode (she stumbled) into his office on the Zephyr, to announce that she had an important discussion to discuss (her words), and she’s already been distracted twice. Once, by the rediscovery of _”Oh, hey, your collectibles!”_ all lined up on a shelf behind him on the wall. (It’s the only place where he can keep them, and he’s too sentimental to let some things go.) The second time, because -- apparently -- he has eyes. 

His eyebrows climb up on his forehead, close to his hairline, as one thing becomes clear. “Agent Johnson, are you drunk?” Because having her draped on top of his desk pressing her finger to his lips very swiftly wasn’t a clue, Phil?

“S _hhhh_ , call me Daisy. I like it when you -- _hic_ \-- say my name, you make it sound _so_...” she inhales, then exhales: “ _hot_.” 

Well, Coulson thinks, _I was going for heartfelt and entirely devoted, but hot is okay too._ She’s drunk. Despite how much this conversation is stirring up parts of him, physical and emotional, he can’t take advantage of this. “How are you drunk?” he asks himself out loud. 

“Special brew. Asgardian. Haha, ass guardian.” 

Coulson lifts his gaze to the ceiling with a soft groan, wonder why - _why_ does that joke make her even more endearing? Lady Sif must really like Daisy and Yo-Yo if she brought them Asgardian ale on this visit, and of course it’s turned out that that’s the only alcohol capable of bringing an Inhuman down. 

In Daisy’s case, down on his desk. Is she - she’s lying down on it now, knocking off some paperwork and paperweights, cupping her head in her hand so she doesn’t slip. It’s sexy, sure, because it’s Daisy, but it’s also hilarious. 

“That was funny,” he acquiesces. 

“I’d be your ass guardian,” she quips. 

He can’t help it, he lets out a sharp, sudden laugh; she surprises joy out of him a lot nowadays. 

“Anyway, we were gonna _talk_ , Phil.” She looks determined, despite the fact that her head does indeed slip out of her hand and she nearly knocks it on his desk. Quickly, he reaches out and cups it in _his_ hand, to stop her from hurting herself. 

“I really love you,” she breathes out, face close to his, eyes wide and sincere, full of hope and full of fear. “Do you know?” 

“You’re - “ he starts, but again, her finger on his lips. (He has half the mind to bite it just to punish her for all the interruptions. Another time, in another place, in another life…) 

“I _know_ I’m drunk, but I’m also uninibited. _Uninhibited_ ,” she repeats, slower this time. “I’ve had all this inhibited... _ness_...around you. You know? Like, first you were the suit, then you were my boss, then you were the guy chasing me, then you were my sorta field partner, and you’ve always been my friend. All this time, I’ve been kinda sorta _really_ into you, do you know how despicable I feel? Like I’m the...fedora guy.” 

He’s lost. But okay. _Calm down,_ he tells himself. She’s drunk of powerful Asgardian ( _not_ ass guardian, don’t repeat it, Phil) ale, and telling him she’s been in love with him for some time now, and he’s very lost.

“How?” he asks, dumbly.

“Pshh, _Phil_ , duh? You’re the best person I know! You’re - you’re just - you’re _such_ a turn on.” And suddenly, she topples forward, and smacks her lips against his. For a marvelous three seconds, Daisy kisses him on the mouth. He’s not lost, he is found. 

Before he can respond, however, she pulls away with a _”Whoah_ ,” looking green in the face. Panicky. 

“Bathroom’s over there,” he says, pointing to the left. She’s gone in ten seconds, with a graceless gallop that pulls a silly laugh out of her. 

He licks his lips in her absence, and wonders how they’re going to go about this. Should he wait for her to sober up and tell her that he completely reciprocates the feeling? Should he follow through now, just so she doesn’t have the chance to spook when she comes out of the hangover tomorrow? Regardless of the choice, he stands up and follows her into the bathroom a little time later, because if she’s sick, he wants to help her through it. 

The answers to his questions are, unfortunately, going to be left for tomorrow. Daisy’s passed out on the bathroom floor, hugging the trashcan. 

Honestly, he’s never been more in love.


End file.
